


The Art of Escapology

by AnInconvenientRuth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnInconvenientRuth/pseuds/AnInconvenientRuth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sherlock broke the kiss enough to murmur “What do you want, John?” against his mouth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh god. I want to touch you,” John gasped.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’d better get yourself untied, then, hadn’t you?” and he sounded calm but his face was very flushed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>John laughed breathlessly, groaned as he scrabbled clumsily with the knots. “You’re very distracting.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Escapology

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John gasped, breathless with laughter and adrenaline, “you have to teach me that throw, that was amazing! What was it, judo or something?”

Sherlock turned from where he’d been hanging up his coat. “No, baritsu. It’s another Japanese martial art. I’ll certainly teach it to you, but based on tonight’s events, it would be more useful to teach you ways of getting yourself untied from a chair.”

“Right, for the next time I get kidnapped?”

“I would prefer you to refrain from getting kidnapped, but that doesn’t seem to stop you.”

“It’s not me! I’d prefer not to be as well, but all your bloody enemies seem to see me as an easy target.”

Sherlock eyed his soft oatmeal jumper. “Yes, I wonder why that could be.”

“Hey!”

“In all honesty, it’s probably as well people don’t know that you’re really a trained killer.”

“Yeah, well, _you_ know, so knock off the insults.”

They grinned at each other for a moment. Then Sherlock said, “I _could_ show you a couple of ways of getting your hands untied from behind your back if you’re interested.”

“Sure, go on then, could be useful.”

“Good. Get that awful jumper off and go and sit on one of the kitchen chairs, and I’ll get something to tie you with.”

It was cool in the kitchen in just a t-shirt. John looked thoughtfully at his wrists. The kidnappers had only had him for about twenty minutes before Sherlock and Lestrade had found him. His wrists were slightly chafed but not too painful. And here he was, calmly waiting for Sherlock to tie him up again. He shook his head at himself. Sometimes he thought his biggest trust issue was that he did totally and unquestioningly trust the long streak of crazy that was his flatmate.

Sherlock reappeared from his bedroom with a coil of thin cotton rope. John raised an eyebrow at him, and got a quizzical look in return. Well, he guessed if anyone was going to have rope in their bedroom for a non-kinky reason, it was going to be Sherlock. Or maybe it really was a kinky reason and Sherlock didn’t care if he knew it. _Hmmm. Shut up, brain_.

“Okay, there are some restraints that are going to be a problem – handcuffs for example, where you’d really need a lock pick, or cable ties, say. Although you can usually break cable ties with an explosive thrust of your arms,” he demonstrated driving his clenched fists towards his own stomach, “but obviously if you were tied to a chair your range of movement would be impeded. I’ll just teach you a couple of rope escapes. I won’t tie your legs, we’ll assume that if you can get your hands free you’ll be able to undo your legs.”

Sherlock stepped behind John, who wrapped his arms back around the sides of the chair. Sherlock caught both of his wrists in one long fingered hand and began winding the rope around them and the back strut of the chair. “If you’re conscious when you’re being tied up, it’s worth flexing your wrists apart as much as you can so the rope gets tied with as much slack as you can get.” He came back in front of John. “Okay? Shoulder not too uncomfortable?”

And that there was exactly why John trusted him. Sherlock knew his limits, pushed the ones he thought he could push and respected the ones he knew he couldn’t; although sometimes they were both surprised by which turned out to be which.

John said “No, it’s fine.” Though honestly it was a little bit… disconcerting… the trailing edge of the adrenaline making him feel very aware of his physical body, of the flex of his muscles, and a kind of liquid tension thrumming just under his skin.

He kept his voice matter of fact. ”What do I do first?” He moved his wrists carefully in the bindings, testing the strength of the knots.

“Right, can you manoeuvre your hands so you can get some of the rope in your fingers? Yes? Okay, start working the slack towards the knot. Once you’ve got it there, you can use it to manipulate the knot undone.”

John worked on the restraints for a few minutes, patiently easing the first knot open. Once that was done the rest were easier and finally he held up his free hands triumphantly.

Sherlock nodded. “Okay, again.”

They repeated the escape several times with different configurations of knots. Then Sherlock bound John’s wrists with less slack.

“This is more difficult. You need to tuck your little finger and thumb into the palm of your hand but keep them aligned with the rest of your fingers.”

“Uh, I don’t think I quite get what you mean.”

Sherlock moved round in front of him to demonstrate; turned his back to John and crossed his wrists at the small of his back, elegant fingers tilted towards John over the curve of that sumptuous arse. 

Wait. What?

He’d never had the man’s backside right in front of his face in quite this way. His libido was suddenly jumping up and down and pointing out that it was just the kind of arse he usually liked to get a nice double handful of.

Sherlock turned back towards him, groin moving into his eye line, and yes really brain, _shut up_ , why on earth was he wondering what Sherlock’s cock might look like? After a second John realised Sherlock had stopped talking. He managed to drag his gaze up to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock was looking expectant and John realised he'd lost track of what Sherlock was saying.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Sherlock was a bit pink and sounded irritated as he said, "This could be _important_ , John.”

“Yes, right, sorry. Show me again.”

This time he mostly managed to concentrate on the movements of Sherlock’s hands, only getting slightly distracted by how long his fingers were. He reproduced the actions well enough to finally get untied again. Sherlock nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, once more and then we’ll stop.”

Sherlock went back round the chair but made no immediate move to retie him.  Suddenly John felt cool fingers sweep over his skin, a gentle touch that was almost a caress. It raised all the hairs on his arms, though not as much as Sherlock’s voice, which in contrast to his touch was slightly rough when he said, “Your wrists are getting quite abraded. Maybe we should leave it here.”

“They’re fine, really. One more time?”

There was a pause, then the rope was being wound around his wrists again. Sherlock came and stood in front of him, looking down at him with an odd look on his face. “Why do you trust me, John? I could do anything to you at the moment.”

 _Oh god_.

The adrenaline was ramping back up, a fine tremor building in his limbs. “Yeah, well, I know you wouldn’t.” Then in an attempt to keep things light, “Also you’ve shown me how to get untied, and I’d break your legs as soon as I got free.”

Sherlock smiled a little at that. Then he reached down with his right hand and cupped John’s left shoulder. “Still okay? Not getting too stiff?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll need to stretch it out afterwards. Or you can give me a massage.” _Oh lord, there was an image, those fingers_ …  “Uh, joking.”

Sherlock stood looking down at John for a long moment, curiously intent. The whole front of John’s body felt over-sensitised, exposed to Sherlock with his arms tied back. Then Sherlock bent down, still gripping John’s shoulder, and kissed him. It started gently, just a press of lips, and then Sherlock opened John’s mouth with his and slid his hand from John’s shoulder to curl around the taut arch of his throat. John’s hips bucked up off the chair, suddenly desperate for more contact.

Sherlock broke the kiss enough to murmur “What do you want, John?” against his mouth.

“Oh god. I want to touch you,” John gasped.

“You’d better get yourself untied, then, hadn’t you?” and he sounded calm but his face was very flushed.

John laughed breathlessly, groaned as he scrabbled clumsily with the knots. “You’re very distracting.”

Sherlock ran both hands down over John’s chest and stomach. When he reached the hem of John's t-shirt, he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric and slowly dragged his hands back up over John's skin, following the same path, thumbing over John's nipples as he passed over them, making John writhe under his touch. Then he stood and rested his hands on his hips. “Tell me what you’d be doing if your hands were free.”

“Oh my _god_. Um. Okay, I’d undo the catch and button on your trousers,” John stammered, and Sherlock slid his fingers to his waistband and undid his trousers. “Christ, okay, then I’d slide your zip down and pull apart the two sides but not push your trousers down, not just yet.” Sherlock opened his fly and John gasped. “Oh god, you’re not wearing underwear. Are you not wearing underwear? Oh my _god_ , you’ve been running round all day with no pants on. Oh, throwing criminals to the ground, and tying me up and, _Jesus_ , standing right there…” Sherlock trailed his fingertips over the crest of one hipbone and John just wanted to _bite_ it. He made a frustrated noise and abandoned his efforts on the rope for a moment, leaning forward as much as he could against the restraint. Sherlock stepped up close, close enough to let John to press his lips to the smooth skin of Sherlock’s hip. He ran his tongue up the groove running along Sherlock’s iliac crest and groaned as Sherlock gasped above him.

“God, I need to get my hands on you. _Fuck_ , these knots are _impossible_.”

“Come _on_ , you’ve done it once. You _really_ need to get them undone now, I need you to touch me.” Sherlock sounded as wrecked as John felt, and that was almost hotter than anything else.

Finally, _finally_ , one of the knots gave way, and with a muttered “Thank fuck,” John struggled out of the rest of the ropes, ripped them away from his wrists and surged forward, grabbing Sherlock’s hips and pushing him back against the kitchen table. He plunged his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, and one hand into Sherlock’s open fly, the other wrapping round the back of his neck. Both of them caught their breath as John's fingers curled round Sherlock’s cock. It was hot and heavy in John’s hand, at once familiar and deeply unfamiliar, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to explore, to map its contours with his fingers, to see, to _taste_. He unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt clumsily with his free hand and pushed it aside, then kissed and licked his way down Sherlock’s long neck, the broad planes of his chest and his soft flat belly. John pushed at his trousers until they slipped over Sherlock’s hips and John dragged them down to calf level. He cradled the length of Sherlock’s shaft against his cheek as he burrowed his nose into Sherlock’s dark pubic hair. Sherlock whimpered, and John gently stroked his cheek against Sherlock’s length, mindful of the prickle of stubble against sensitive skin. He turned his head, running his closed mouth from base to tip of Sherlock’s cock, then parted his lips slightly and ran the very tip of his tongue along the same line, letting the wet inside of his lower lip drag along too in counterpoint.

Sherlock’s hips jolted forward and he panted, “More, _please_ , more.”

John grinned up at him and took the end of his cock between his lips, dabbing at it with the tip of his tongue, teasing his foreskin with little flicks, finally dipping his tongue into his foreskin to taste his slit. As he licked more vigorously he gently teased Sherlock’s foreskin back, exposing the tight shiny head which he swirled his tongue over. Sherlock’s hips bucked again, and he gasped, “Sorry”. John moved one hand around to cup Sherlock’s arse, couldn’t resist squeezing a little. Then he opened his mouth and slid down onto his cock, taking it in as far as he could, then withdrawing slowly, maintaining suction, and back down again. Sherlock moaned, his knuckles white on the edge of the table as John gradually built up a rhythm. John released his grip on Sherlock’s arse long enough to prise one of his hands free and move it to the back of John's head. Sherlock’s fingers combed through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. John grabbed his arse again, then changed his mind and smoothed his hand forward over Sherlock’s hip, across the delicate hollow of skin in front of his hipbone which made Sherlock shiver, and gently down to cradle Sherlock’s balls. He could feel them tightening, drawing up and knew Sherlock was close, felt Sherlock shudder all over and try to pull John back, sobbing “I’m coming…” But John wanted it all now and resisted, sliding a finger back to press against Sherlock’s perineum, and Sherlock curled forward around him and came, crying out John's name over and over like a prayer and a curse and a promise, his shaft pulsing in John's mouth. John swallowed it down, part of Sherlock inside him now, his body taking it and breaking it down and using it to make part of John and he nearly came himself from just that thought.

Sherlock dragged him back up and kissed him desperately. Then he pushed them round, switching their positions and dropped to his knees in front of John. Four hands tried to get John's jeans undone, and finally John had to bat Sherlock’s hands away and do it himself, only getting them down to mid-thigh before Sherlock leant in and took his cock into his mouth. John swore, “Jesus fuck,” and Sherlock sucked twice and John was coming, helplessly, harder than he could ever remember, and dear god, Sherlock was swallowing his come as well, so now he was part of Sherlock and the symmetry felt so right he could hardly get his breath. Sherlock pressed kisses to his groin and belly, and his skin twitched, not quite ticklish, but over-sensitive.

They were both trembling when Sherlock stood and they clung to each other, kissing and kissing and kissing. When they were finally still, wrapped in each other’s arms, John murmured, “Well, that was… unexpected.”

Sherlock looked uncharacteristically anxious, and said tentatively, “But was it okay?”

John huffed out a half laugh. “Jesus, Sherlock, better than okay. Amazing. How about you?”

Sherlock nodded fervently, and John grinned at him. “Speechless? I’m proud. And astonished.”

They smiled at each other. Then John said, “So. About that baritsu throw you were going to teach me…”


End file.
